


Rooftops

by DragonFire026



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Ladybug and Cat Noir mentioned, One-Shot, Rooftops, in which I take an inanimate object and make it...sentient
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-22 23:16:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14319222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonFire026/pseuds/DragonFire026
Summary: If walls can talk, than why can't the rooftops?





	Rooftops

**Author's Note:**

> Oh no, I've fallen down the Miraculous rabbit-hole. Oopsie. Not leaving anytime soon, either...
> 
> Anyway. Dumb question (though I'm new to the fandom so I guess I can ask those) but I've seen Cat Noir spelled as "Cat" and "Chat"...which one's the right one? Or is Chat just the French version?

If the cafes, doorways, and streets of Paris could speak, they’d have a lot to say. 

Their mornings would begin with cloudless skies, sunrises shaded with amber. The streets would fill with the smell of a bitter roast, and the alleys would ring with the sounds of passing cars and babbling passerby.

The doorways would tell great stories, if they could talk. They’d tell of bright young schoolchildren, rambling nonsensically about one thing or another as they enter each shop, hand in hand with a mother who is patient and kind in spite of the noise. 

And the streets know every car is going somewhere, that every driver has a destination and every passenger a purpose. 

Paris is bustling with people, empty faces scurrying from here to there, but the rooftops see so much more. They see what others don’t, what the alleys, doors, and roads struggle to comprehend. There is so much more to the city, and the rooftops see it all. 

But the rooftops don’t just see people, they see heroes. 

They don’t remember where they came from. Perhaps there was a day when the sunlit skies passed untainted by streaks of black and red, but that doesn’t matter now. Paris would not be the same without them. 

They, the dashing Cat Noir and the lovely Ladybug, serve as Paris’ great heroes. Wielding powers of destruction and brilliant luck, they risk everything to save their city. They dance around each other like fire and ice, startlingly similar but as far apart as can be. 

And tension charges the air like the coming of a lightning storm, because love is a weapon that hurts and heals, and these two are far, far too young to be able to discern between things like love and duty and what is right and what is fair. 

They might be rooftops, made of sunbaked paint and stone and hardened concrete, but there are nights when they weep for their heroes, and the many trials they have faced, endlessly, endlessly, and all the trials they still will. 

If the rooftops could talk, they’d speak in chiding tongues, of the dangers of a heroes’ profession, of the sheer carelessness of their actions. The media is cruel and the public is clueless, bending these children under the weight of their opinions, breaking them under their lies and their gossip.

They could be bitter, scarred by fierce words and fiercer tempers, but they are not. And that, _that_ is what matters, what makes them heroes, that stubborn streak that pits resilience at the center of their unwavering spirits, makes them bold and strong and brave.

And that is what makes the rooftops proud.

Because while the rest of the city sings of its people (who are in no way perfect, in no way), the rooftops know that without its heroes, without the two that grace their stone covered paths each night, there would be no city at all. There would be rubble, streets cracked and broken by akumas aplenty, cars waylaid and bashed on their side. 

There would be chaos without them, but instead there is safety, nice streets and quiet alleys and happy homes. There is _light_ —something that stays even after the sun goes down and the sky is ruled by a moon and stars—because Paris has heroes that prevail even in desperate moments, who rise up when it seems like everything has gone wrong. 

The rooftops don’t see people. They see _hope_.


End file.
